Thirty Days
by Lioness Deity
Summary: Fletcher, after escaping with the help of an unknown assassin, makes a deal and is put on a timer of thirty days to train and kill three people he knows without getting caught. Upon finding the loophole that the people didn't have to be people he liked, Fletcher intends to use this to the full advantage. M for intense violence. Also Published on my Ao3: 1nkmistress 1ra
1. Prologue

The labour was already taking its toll on Fletcher, who wondered how his life now was any different than in the cells. At least he had better air and more space, he told himself. That cell hadn't done much good for his psyche.

No one was permitted a pickaxe, for rather obvious reasons, so, yes, everything was done by hand unless needed. If that were the case, some prisoners were forced to call a guard over, and the chances of doing so without consequence were waning.

The man beside him looked even worse, looking like he'd been in the Mines longer than anyone else. His silver hair dirtied and his face bore a nasty gash that dragged from his forehead to his cheek. He hauled away at the gold mines for hours at a time, maybe days if he were given the chance. He sent another cart of gold and minerals down the shaft and cursed when he heard a crunch on the other end.

"Another one!" he shouted down the mines, and the others couldn't do much more than groan, Fletcher winced as the body was removed, leaving a blood trail and the faint rattling of bones.

"Hold this," the man beside him said and held out a torch. He continued to carve away as an empty cart showed up on the rails.

He hauled an ore over his shoulder and threw it in, allowing it to crack. Fletcher couldn't help but wince, before he spoke up. "You know, bringing them back damaged could do more harm to you than good."

"I've been here three years past my sentences. Ain't nothing they can do that can't push me further." he spat for distance and it landed in the metal cart. Fletcher flinched when he bared his teeth in a sneer as he continued with his work. Maybe, it was the exhaustion getting to him, but Fletcher could have sworn he saw the man had fangs.

"So, what are you in for?" he asked and pulled a vial from his pockets.

"Whoa, where'd-" The man slapped a hand over Fletcher's mouth before he could finish. "Don't tell anyone. It's the only thing keeping me sane in here." he took a swig before handing it to Fletcher. "Drink up. You'll need it."

Fletcher did, downing the rest of it in seconds before tossing it aside, though the man looked disappointed he did that. He then brushed it off. "Eh, let them find it. They'll clean and refill it. So, your sentence?"

"As long as possible, I guess. They never said how long."

"The reason you're here?"

Fletcher looked down.

"Here, I'll go first." the man continued. "I failed to kill Zachariah."

"You tried to kill him?"

"Let's just say I don't have the prettiest history with them Forsyths."

"Oh…" Fletcher twiddled his thumbs, as the man looked curiously at him. "I just got out of prison… "

The man furrowed his brow.

"Whatcha doin' here for?"

"A negotiation deal, unfortunately." he let out a sharp huff of regret. "Well, it was that or execution. I'm getting it, either way, I guess."

"Fah… Let me clue you in on a little something, kid. Sometimes rolling with the punches is the easier way out. Ya just can't let your guard down. Here, I'll let you know when I need a distraction and we can get the hell out of here."

"You've found a way to escape?"

"I've had dozens of plans, you can see where that went. How do you think I got this?" he gestured to his scar.

"I feel this one should take a beating this time."

Fletcher recognised the voice. Tarquin.

The chains around his feet released, but another set was clipped onto his wrists and he was taken to a small circular area of dirt where the other prisoners watched. Fletcher had no time to watch as the man started to work his magic on the pocket of a guard. Then, he let out a cry as the leather came down on his back. Then another, then another, over and over until he felt blood leak.

He went rigid as another blow stung the open wound. He cursed, bit his lip, and let out another curse as the cat o' nine tails sprayed hot blood around the area.

"I think he's had enough… "

At first, Fletcher couldn't identify the speaker until he heard the gurgling. In a flash, the rope around his wrists was severed. The man stood tall and proud with a sword in hand and the keys in the other. Fletcher would have guessed that Tarquin would come down with more than three guards, but he was thankful he was wrong.

The man shoved the sword into the second guard and stole his weapon too. "Catch!" he shouted and the sword seemed to fall into Fletcher's hands.

The man did most of the heavy lifting, watching Fletcher's back as the latter started freeing the elders, then children.

"I'll take care of the guards, there's a passage further into the mines that will lead out by the castle." He stole another sword and handed it to him.

"Find what you need and get the hell out of dodge."

By then, Fletcher had forgotten about Tarquin, and he almost met the tip of a sword blade when he turned around. Tarquin had slashed the shins of most of the freed people, and the children cowered back in their respective corners.

He'd just have to take care of them later.

"Never expected this from you. You used to be such a good boy," Tarquin spat, like an angry parent, more mocking him than anything.

Then he charged.

Fletcher's focus was more on dodging and getting out, more than anything. But Tarquin was turning it more into a dance to the death.

"Kid, break his stance! This should be sword fighting 101!" The man shouted from behind.

He beat back another guard and stole another sword.

Then FLetcher had an idea. He hooked a shackle around his foot and yanked it over nearer. He'd need it. Fletcher adjusted himself accordingly and started to back up, as Tarquin swung and parried. Fletcher just needed that particular spot…

Back and forth, the swords clashed, neither landing a blow deeper than a graze until Fletcher stumbled back and hit the wall. He cried out, the pain shooting through his spine.

He struggled to hold his ground as Tarquin's blade neared his throat as only a sliver of energy separated him and his ultimate doom.

Fletcher looked own at the open shackles, and couldn't help but smile and nudged one over Tarquin's foot. He shot down, the sword embedding itself into the dirt, and with a single hand, locked the metal around Tarquin's ankle and dove straight for Tarquin's stomach before the latter could stab him. They flew almost a metre out before Tarquin's ankle snagged on the chain, sending a few more people back from their work.

Neither the man nor Fletcher could believe the latter's plan worked, and the duo dashed down the shaft.

"What about the cart? We couldn't take that?" Fletcher asked.

"We'll perish if we take it down. There's a small hill down here, and it should lead… " he slowed and listened as the voices of the others trying to free Tarquin echoed through the darkened chamber.

Fletcher felt his pockets only for the man to hold up the keys. "Picked your pockets. Didn't trust that you'd hang on to them."

"Thanks… "

"Don't thank me yet. Thank me when I actually get us out of here."

The trek was long enough Fletcher had to relight the torch a few times. The man gestured to a small corridor with a heavy wooden door.

"Alright, kid, you're almost free!"

He threw the door open and Fletcher ran out, fresh sunlight hitting his skin for the first time in weeks.

He flopped onto the ground and squirmed in it, like one would in snow.

"Oh my heavens, I never thought grass would be this good," Fletcher said.

"I've had that feeling." The man said.

Fletcher rolled down the hill before stopping before he could fall any further, hauling himself up.

"I'm Fletcher, by the way," he introduced and held his hand out.

"Latamer," the man responded, shaking his hand. When Fletcher pulled away, a flask was in his hand.

"Drink, we're out of the pan and into the fire."

Fletcher did, at first careful, he was drinking whiskey, but was mildly surprised when he tasted water. He heard Latamer crack his knuckles and muttering, but there was nothing decipherable about it. Finally, he said something Fletcher understood. "Where's someplace we can go, though?"

Fletcher pulled away from the water. "'We?'" he repeated.

"Yes, 'we.' You don't look the type to stay out for too long. I'll help you get back to your home, but that's as far as I'll take you."

"No!"

For the first time, Latamer showed a sign of vulnerability: he flinched, then looked around. Fletcher lowered his tone. "I can't go back home, but I do know a place you can take me."

"Where to?"

"You heard of Vocans Academy?"

Latamer frowned.

"Yeah, I got expelled."

"You know Magic?!"

Latamer noted the slight irritation, and he knew what Fletcher was thinking. He shut him down, "I only know magic. I don't practice it."

Fletcher seemed to soften after that. "So, you can't perform any magic?"

"I can't conjure a fire like you can. But I have my strengths," he added.

Latamer searched him up and down. "You certainly look like you've had your fair share of hell, I'll give you that. I can't believe I still remember your first day, taking a beating for that poor kid."

Fletcher grimaced at the memory.

"Why are you bringing this up?"

"It swayed me to like you, to say the least. Sure, it's so sweet that I'd heave, and I expected you to break after the first three weeks. You didn't."

"So, you like me?"

"Indeed. So much so that I want to strike a deal."

Fletcher adjusted his grip on the flask. "What kind of deal?"

"Well, for some background, I'm an assassin."

"I've never heard of you."

"Well, I don't exactly want to be caught, now, do I? And neither do you. I can teach you to kill a king in thirty days with any weapon, makeshift or otherwise, and in return, you kill three people you know."

Fletcher reeled back.

Latamer's face turned grim. "Listen, boy, I don't want to be caught and thrown in as much as the next man, but I'm all you have. Besides, who's to say that Vocans," he said 'Vocans' like it was derogatory, "isn't going to snitch and turn you back in to the Forsythes."

Fletcher thought of the lashings and grimaced.

Latamer extended a hand, and for the first time, Fletcher noticed a small blue rune on the back of his hand.

"Do we have a deal?" Latamer asked.

Fletcher started to reach out but stopped short, looked behind him, then back at Latamer, before shaking his hand. There was a pinch in his hand like a needle came from Latamer's hand and pierced through all the way.

Latamer pulled away when his rune tattoo sparked. Literally sparked. He looked at the back of his own, and saw a matching rune and started to panic.

"The Deal's sealed. Remember, three bodies, don't get caught, and you're free."


	2. Day 1

So, I haven't touched this fanfic in almost exactly a year since I first uploaded the Prologue... Enjoy or whatever.

Day 1

"Don't look now, we've got company," Latamer muttered and Fletcher watched as Isadora made her way to the entrance of the gold mines along with seven guards.

"No time to lose, there's a river near here. now go get washed up." Latamer led him down the path.

"They call this the Arrow." Latamer said, "it's straight as one, at least, and Travellers use this route often to keep by water and keep an eye out for bandits. So I might get some weapons. Maybe some food if you have a strong stomach."

Fletcher paused, even as Latamer kept going. "You're not telling me... "

Latamer turned back and spread his arms out. "It's winter, kid! Ain't nothin' out here save for the wolves! Unless you can make a quick pelt without matches."

He turned back and picked a rock from the ground, using it to file his nails.

"Use that fire spell o' yours to get something going, once you're done."

Fletcher didn't watch as Latamer lunged forth at the merchants, and chose to dip into the rivine water. It was muddier than he was used to, but maybe that was the blood.

His skin was cleaner than before, but washing the clothes proved to be in vain. When he came back up the hill, he affixed himself to a tinder before lighting it the best he could with a wet finger. Throwing more and more food for the fire, he heard the men fire their guns as they yowled and shouted for external help. Some called Latamer a monster.

Fletcher blinked at the sound of a gurgling cry and he watched Latamer come back over the hill with a batch of guns and swords in one hand, and a slab of meat in the other. He was covered in more blood than before. Fletcher didn't think that was possible but now he was proven wrong.

"Dinner time! Skewer this, will you?" Latamer held the slab out.

Fletcher reached over and pulled a stick from beside him before grabbing at a sword. He whittled it down and handed it to Latamer, who skewered the meat himself. He turned the meat in the fire, the blood hissing with every rhythmic drop.

Fletcher pressed his lips at the sight of the dripping red meat. Until Latamer held it out to him, Fletcher didn't realize if the feeling he had was hunger or disgust.

"Kid, we won't hit a town until another forty-five minutes," Latamer added. "Eat now, so you don't suffer until we get to the city."

"How are you so adjusted to this?!" Fletcher squeaked. Staring at the food, he felt the hunger eat away at him. The disgust that followed conflicted with it. He was hungry. He was disgusted that he was leering at the human flesh as if it were venison itself. He was disgusted for being hungry.

"I had to survive down in those mines somehow. How long do you think I was there for?"

Fletcher clutched his stomach to keep himself from dry heaving.

"Eat, my boy. It'll be a long day if you don't." Latamer advised.

His back ached from the new scars. The cruelty of man was truly something to behold in the slight it deserved. To think he would about to become just like them sickened him to his core. But the will of survival took him by the hand and yanked him off his path of righteousness.

He snatched the slab of meat, pulling the bone out with the strength he never knew he had and bit into the red. Salt flicked his tongue and it took him a moment to realise he was crying. Blood smeared his face as he continued to finish the meat. He licked his hands clean of the blood before curling into himself.

"It's just survival, kid. Ain't nothin' to be ashamed about."

Fletcher's only response to that was another choke of a sob. He was fifteen, he didn't know how many boys his age went through prison for a false claim from a childhood rival. What in the absolute hell warranted that?!

"Fletcher."

Fletcher looked up, at the sound of Latamer's soft voice.

"This is the first test every assassin must go through. And no, this wasn't a test of will. This was for your sake and mine."

"A test. A test?! People died!"

"People die all the time. Besides, we have our way into the town. We get a room, we slip out. Fletcher, a part of being an assassin is being able to get over things quickly. And I mean quickly."

Fletcher let out another choke of a sob and buried his head in his hands.

Latamer couldn't help but glance back at the pathetic boy as he pulled an extra set of garbs from the merchant's carriage. They were armed; handguns, rifles, and rapiers. It was like a deity was smiling down at them.

He pulled a set of clothes, finding something by an estimate of what Fletcher would wear before tossing them to the boy.

"Suit up, we're goin' into town! Make sure you keep your scarf up and your cloak pinned shut."

"What about the rest of the bodies?"

"Let the wolves eat 'em, cover any evidence we were there. Now get in the carriage and change. I'll drive and you can shoot whatever that moves. You know how to handle a rifle?"

Fletcher raised his head and shook it.

"Time to teach, then." He picked a musket free from the pile and stood. He fired it before pulling a small metal sphere from his pocket.

"Where'd you get that? There's no ammo in there," Fletcher dug around the pile and pulled a pistol free. Latamer snatched it out of his hands by the barrel.

"O-Kay, why don't you let me handle the weapons for now."

Fletcher stared at the pistol in his hand. It had a short barrel, three inches total, and something jutted out from the back of it over the handle.

"What is that?" he asked finally.

Latamer took a moment to look at the pistol before sheathing it in his pocket.

"I heard some rumor around the castle when I first snuck around, and I think it's called a revolver. I took a blueprint before the Forsythes locked me up."

"Do you still have it?"

"Yes, actually. Had to hide in a bandage then bury it so none of them could find it."

He raised his shirt, revealing a mess of old cloth splattered with red. He pulled it away and pulled a folded piece of paper free with a wince.

"Couldn't risk it falling out, now can I? Now... " he unfolded the bloodied parchment and set it down. "Care to tell me how this might be made?"

"Lots of careful handling, that's for sure. This is amazing. I can get my father to forge this if he can. But, a quick question before we proceed."

"What is it?"

"Is this a dwarven conception, or is it a Forsythe conception?"

"Knowing the Forsythes, they could have stolen the prints before the dwarves started production for the most part. I had a prototype early on when I was sent to murder Zachariah, but they never disclosed who made it. Alright first things first. How well adjusted to projectiles are you?"

"I'm an archer."

"Good. Then you know to never aim the Projectile towards you. In this case, don't look down the barrel to check if it's loaded. It's a common dumbass mistake that gets people killed. Got it? With these revolvers, you can just open the cylinder."

With a click, the cylinder snapped out, revealing six shots loaded and ready.

"Alright, this is simple. Raise," Latamer pulled the point jutting from the frame. It snapped forward. "Aim," He pointed the revolver towards a tree. "Fire," the crack echoed through the valley and the tree bark burst into splinters.

"Five shots left." Latamer handed the revolver over. "Use 'em wisely."

The ride into town was long and Fletcher had trouble staying awake. The adreneline from his freedom had worn off and his body was catching up. Not a lot of prisoners were permitted breaks, let alone any form of sleep back in the mines.

Latamer ran over a rough bump in the road. Fletcher's body jerked up before slamming his head down against the sill of the door window, effectively keeping him up for the rest of the day.

"Rough one, ain't it?" Latamer called back as he snapped the reins. "Remember, you're on lookout duty!"

"Yes, sir!"

Fletcher sighed as he leveled the crossbow on the window towards the grain meadow.

The swaying grains didn't help his addled mind. Five days set the record for the longest time he'd been awake straight.

"Latamer, how much longer?"

"It should be no more than another ten minutes. Keep your guard up. Bandits like to hide in the fields. Shoot anything suspicious."

The warnings didn't go to waste, Fletcher studied the field and the pattern showed itself as naturally as it could. The disturbance of a black dot in the field inching towards them had Fletcher wrapping his finger around the trigger.

He squeezed, and the bolt flew. Like a falcon diving towards its prey, the bolt hit the dot and the man jerked up and fell back, crying out.

"They've spotted us!" A voice shouted.

Fletcher loaded another bolt as another three came towards them. It was a sick game, but Fletcher soon found himself having a bit of fun. He missed completely twice out of the seven that appeared, but the seven alive stumbled up to their feet as Latamer stopped the cart.

"Nice shot! Now to teach you the first rule of the sword!" Fletcher didn't know whether Latamer was speaking to him or the bandits. He didn't have a chance to ask as Latamer jumped down from the driver's spot and rushed the field.

Fletcher latched the doors shut and watched as Latamer disarmed the first man to make a go at him.

He'd never seen someone move so fast. In a flash, Latamer twisted the man's arm out of line and grabbed the hilt. He let him go before he slashed the man in three, swinging the swords across his body before turning.

Fletcher recalled the phrase of chasing two rabbits. Well, Latamer seemed to think similarly because he chose the closer of the two to be the next to die. He swung the sword in a pirouette, before stopping and letting the torque of the second to land its strike to the next man. The sword stopped in this man, this time, like he struck a tree.

"You dance?" Fletcher asked.

"It ain't too different than fightin'. Just takes practice to combine the two."

"You'll teach me that, right?"

"Sure."

The rest of the ride was eventless.

Fletcher dozed off and it took Latamer waking him a second time for him to remember.

"And we're just gonna walk in broad daylight?"

"Keep the scarf over your nose. Don't want anyone recognizing you."

Fletcher tugged the red scarf accordingly before following Latamer through the market. The elf wove through the people like a leaf in the wind. Fletcher was less graceful, bumping into a great deal of people and apologizing when he could.

Finally, he saw the spot of silver hair stop in front of a stand. The familiar scent of butter and bread gave Fletcher the idea of where he was. Food! Glorious Food! Fletcher thought and rushed through. Ducking and slowly making his way until he reached Latamer with a breadbasket.

"Take one, kiddo," Latamer tempted. Fletcher took a roll and bit into it. It was a fresh change of pace from the rotten fruit, old meat, and flesh he'd feasted on within the previous months.

"I'll take a dozen," Latamer lifted his foot and drew a coin from his slipper and set it on the counter. The baker paused when she saw it.

"You're- "

"Take it or leave it. It'll feed your family for a year if you give it to the right person. I suggest you keep it for a while in case of an emergency," Latamer offered.

The baker snatched the coin from the counter and served a small paper cone of a baguette with a baker's dozen of rolls.

"What was that coin?"

"It's an old coin I kept. I almost bribed a guard with it back at the Forsythes before you came along. I'm glad I kept it, to be frank. She looked like she needed it."

"You gave—" Then a thought hit Fletcher like a brick and he grinned. "You did something nice."

"Yes, kid, I have morals and understandings like anyone else." Latamer raised an eyebrow to ask where it was going.

"Nevermind," Fletcher snatched another roll from the cone and ate. Fresh out of the oven.

They reached an small building with a sign that advertised an inn for three nights maximum. It was small enough to fit three bedrooms and Latamer spoke with the woman at the front desk. He didn't need to turn around to whip his hand near the bread, at Fletcher's reaching hands.

"Don't eat all of these in one night. You'll be hunting for us soon." He didn't turn away from the woman as they spoke before she handed him a key. He made his way up to the stairwell, as the woman eyed Fletcher wit a suspicious frown.

Fletcher hurried along before she could get a good look at his face. When he caught up, he asked. "You said I'll be hunting soon?"

"You're an archer, aint'cha?"

"It was my life."

"How much have you advanced?"

"Find me a good bow and I'll show you."

"That can be arranged... Tomorrow. Now, get some rest. I'll find you a bowyer."

This time, Fletcher didn't argue and flopped down onto the bed without a second thought.

END OF DAY 1

**Also on my Ao3**

**My Ao3: 1nkmistress_1ra**


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